


the theory of forms

by Arianne, patrexes



Series: Kinktober 2019 [26]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Creampie, Established Relationship, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Old Age, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-20 03:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: “You came all the way here just for Heavensturn? Youhavegone soft.”“As you ever do complain of lately.”
Relationships: Louisoix Leveilleur/Matoya (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: Kinktober 2019 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492133
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	the theory of forms

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: degradation

Unmistakable æther turned in the near distance, and from her seat at the table Matoya sparked a new flame beneath her kettle rather than face a social call from none other than Louisoix Leveilleur without a second mug of tea at the ready.

Matoya put on her best scowl to have it in place the moment he strolled in, ‘considerate’ as ever to let the currents bring him no closer than her front door—but still not enough to _knock_. Eyes fixed downward as if still reading the page in front of her, she said, “You came all the way here just for Heavensturn? You _have_ gone soft.”

“As you ever do complain of lately.” Louisoix’s voice was light, pride apparently unbruised by the reminder of his venerable age.

Matoya threw him a suspicious glance over her mug as he made himself quite at home, setting down on another of her chairs the effects he insisted on traveling with, though by the currents the Sharlayan motherland was hardly more a journey than Idyllshire. When he caught her eye, he only grinned broadly. “You’re in high spirits. Why?”

“Our paths so rarely cross these days,” said Louisoix, and with a raised brow asked, “Might I not simply be glad to see the mother of my children?” 

“No,” Matoya said, and even her tired eyes could not mistake the roll of his. “What new trick have you learned, you old dog?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, but already he was divesting himself of his outerwear. “Your granddaughter, though,” he deflected—and really, _her_ granddaughter, as if she had anything to do with it. She couldn’t even say with certainty how many such grandchildren she yet had; Louisoix only ever mentioned the one, and knowing they’d been born sickly Matoya had not asked after the other. “She’s been learning several tricks of late. The girl can successfully identify elemental aspects, and engage her own well of æther to attune to an ætheryte.”

He wanted her to give him some vapid, small talk reply, no doubt: _that’s nice_ or something of the ilk. Matoya instead stood, turning her back on Louisoix in his smallclothes, folding up his robes; granddaughter or no, she was not about to praise an achievement that could only kindly be called mediocre. The girl was, what, four summers old now? Five? Matoya doubted she had managed even a single shard of ice, if only because Louisoix would not have let a single breath past his lips before boasting of it; at the same age Matoya had been freezing the æther in spans yalms across with ease.

Setting her mug atop a small stack of tomes on her bedside table, she toed off her house shoes and deposited her hat upon its stand. Louisoix was still standing there, no less undressed than last she had checked.

More undressed, though, than she’d given him leave for. Matoya _tsk_ ed him, shaking her head. “So eager,” she chastised. “When you were thirty, fair enough; I hadn’t taught you any better yet. But one would think that by _now_ a lesson or two would have stuck.”

Louisoix grimaced—embarrassment or irritation, only the Twelve could say. Knowing him, both. His hands brought low over his shame, he started, “Matoya, must we play th—”

“Master Matoya,” she snapped, and watched the wind cut from his sails.

“Master Matoya,” Louisoix said, obedient to her in a way no one else alive had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. “Have I your permission to proceed?”

Matoya kicked a few tomes down the foot of the bed with a bare foot, stretching out her legs in the newly cleared space on the mattress, her weight on her elbow. “Yes,” she allowed, once she’d decided he’d hung on her word long enough. “Once you’re finished there you can see to me as well.”

When they were still students themselves, neither of them had the patience to draw these matters out, enjoying each other’s bodies and letting tension and arousal slowly build. Their first fucks had nothing so pretentious as foreplay: Louisoix would unlace his trousers, shove Matoya’s skirt up to her waist as she stowed their thesis papers out of reach of even the most assiduous bodily fluids, and then he would be inside her. She had no decent opportunity, then, when they were young and horny, to savor the look of his cock; the way it felt, warm and soft in the palm of her hand.

But now they were old and wrinkled, familiar to each other—with nothing to prove and nothing but time.

His cock lay soft, flat against his bare thigh, the barest midwinter brush of wiry hair upon his mons. With age, even the tip of the glans where it peeked out from beneath the foreskin was dry, nothing shining on his skin but sweat. It would taste of _him_ over all else, the barest trace of salt and soap on his flesh, no bitter emission on Matoya’s tongue. She wanted that, wanted Louisoix—but it would never do to have him think her desperate for his cock like a schoolgirl, probably like half of his students in that experiment of his, the Circle of Knowing.

She’d gone without even the sight of his cock for near on four moons; she could contain her need another few minutes to make him squirm. She lifted her gaze; gave his aging body a cursory examination from his bare feet to his crow’s feet. “Come here. On your knees.”

Once, he would have crawled to her, and as much as she misses that, she can’t begrudge him the choice to walk over and then kneel beside her bed. 

“I should punish you for that,” she told him, fond even as she allowed him to shift her from her recline, bringing her feet back down before him. 

Kissing his way up her shins beneath her skirt, his warm hands on her calves, it was with his breath ghosting over goosebumps that Louisoix said, “Please, Master Matoya.”

“You _want_ it too badly. Oh—!” Teeth dragged against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, Louisoix nipping at her flesh, rising higher to press his lips to her own. Matoya tried to make herself focus on the comical sight of his head and ears bulging beneath her skirt rather than on the heat rising in her core from the feeling of his lips, his hands. His thumbs rubbed circles into her thighs, no doubt to relish the feeling of her soft hair beneath his fingers, and it was so _endearing_ , the way he still loved the differences between their bodies, his fascination with the traits of her hyuran heritage. “Here, here, get me out of this.”

Louisoix obliged, rising on his knees to help Matoya out of her dress, then abandoning it to the floor once he had her bare before him. His hands curled careful around her ribcage, the line of his thumbs against the sides of her sagging tits as he kissed his way down them and pressed his lips to the center of her sternum, his cheekbones smooth against her nipples. Matoya had never found her own body attractive—she didn’t _mind_ it, as it did its job of tethering her æther to this plane perfectly competently—but there was some nameless thrill in knowing it so affected Louisoix. Trivial egotism, perhaps, but two could play at that game.

Louisoix’s hands slid down her waist to her hips and he followed, his lips worshipping the curves of her belly, the stretch marks bearing three children for him had left. Matoya pushed his head down between her thighs, and he in turn lifted her thighs with hands beneath her knees. Years had come and gone since she could easily spread them far enough to account for his ears—a frequent source of teasing on those previous occasions he’d asked if he might taste her—but with his support she could bear this strain in her hips long enough to do the deed.

“I wish you’d shave that beard. All this fuss when I might as well get a phurble between my legs.” He laughed gently, and rather than a verbal acknowledgement he took her clit between his lips. It had taken years, but he _had_ managed to learn what she liked: not ticklish little laps of his tongue but properly _sucking_ it. 

They both knew she wouldn’t come from this—rarely enough ever did without his fingers or something else inside her—but for what it was, and for that there was no expectation by now of it being enough to finish her, it was good. Louisoix focused the majority of his attention on her clit, his few tangents between the lips of her cunt not laving over them like he thought she might like it but rather pressing his spit inside her. It had been nigh on a decade since she got wet enough not to need something to help ease the way—Louisoix tonguing her cunt was a promise of the proper fuck he hadn’t given her in more than half a year.

“Mm, get on with it, won’t you? I’m as wet as I’m going to be.” Prising his hand from her hip, Matoya spat in his palm. “Will I be making do with this, or have you gotten it up for me?”

Louisoix sat up from between her legs, a twinkle in his eyes Matoya did not in the least bit trust. “Well,” he said, “that’s the trick, Master Matoya.” And watching him slipping his hand between his own thighs, even the least talented mage would be hard-pressed not to notice the shifting of æther.

“Magic?” said Matoya, as scathing as a single word could muster. “You lazy bastard.”

“If it displeases you,” Louisoix began, in a smug tone which betrayed he knew full well that even if she criticized his methods the result did _not_ , “may I have your permission to find completion in my hand?”

Matoya tweaked his ear. “Just for that, I should _make_ you.”

“I dare say I can’t remember the last time I heard a more conspicuously empty threat, Master Matoya.”

Louisoix ever sought to be put in his place, and backtalk delivered with such a glint in his eye was ever his favored way to ask for it. Matoya smacked him all the same. Open-palmed with no great amount of force behind it—for it was the insult, not the pain, which satisfied them—the two of them found the same pleasure in his hand rising to his cheek, his mouth open and eyes downcast.

Matoya patted the bedspread beside her. “Get up here. I want to kiss you.”

Compared to hers, Louisoix’s knees barely creaked as he clambered into bed, and she frowned. Either it escaped his notice—unlikely, when he was always half again too clever for anyone’s good—or he correctly assumed it was largely out of spite, for he simply helped lift her legs to the bed and took her into his arms as he was bid. She caught his chin—under that cursed beard—between her thumb and fingers, and kissed him.

It was always better in her head. In reality, he tasted of her own cunt and of his dinner, clashing with the floral taste lingering on her own tongue from her tea. His beard brushed rough against her chin, their teeth knocking against each other, and then Louisoix had to go making it worse by getting his hair in her _mouth_. 

“Awful,” said Matoya, pulling away to pick his beard out from between her teeth. “Just despicable. You should be hanged for that damn beard.”

Louisoix laughed. “Are you ready to have me, then?”

“Anything would be an improvement.” He knew her well enough he’d not be offended, but take it as the veiled admission it was. And sure enough, he gladly obliged, wrapping his fingers around his unflagging—and wasn’t _that_ a nice sight, so rare of late—cock and pressing his knee between her thighs to part them. Matoya sat up on her elbows. “Ugh, wait. I should piss.” The last time she’d been carried away and had neglected to beforehand, Louisoix had been barely half-hard upon her return, and she’d rather not risk a good fuck on the strength of a bit of conjury.

“Stay,” Louisoix cajoled, catching her wrist in his hand when she made to roll out of bed.

“What, and piss on _you?”_

“I don’t mind a mess,” he said, and Matoya scoffed even knowing he meant it. Years ago, heavy with her third child, she had ached for need of him more often than she’d yet _felt_ , let alone admit; in her haste she’d once made a mess of herself, and he did not so much as hesitate to continue.

“You’ll be cleaning it up,” she agreed, and laid back.

“Of course, Master Matoya.” Neither of them much for foreplay, Louisoix parted her thighs, and guided his hard cock between her lips.

The head dragged rough against the front wall of her cunt and pressed on her full bladder, a curious mix of arousal and _need_ in its wake—the reflexive clench of her cunt around him only intensifying the sensation until relief came of letting go, soaking the both of them and the bed beneath. With the release came satisfaction so strong it edged into pleasure for its own sake, brought over the edge by Louisoix’s cock inside her, filling her in a way she would never admit she needed.

(His ego was bad enough only suspecting; Matoya wouldn’t dare confirm it.)

For a moment he only kept her full as they both found their breath, but at the first hitch of Matoya’s own hips he began a steady rhythm, rolling thrusts not hard enough to drive her up the bed but deep enough that each found its mark at the mouth of her womb, touch her fingers couldn’t provide. While the handle of a broom was long enough to reach, it was too little like a cock and the particular _give_ which kept the pressure from turning to pain. 

There was more of Louisoix than could fit inside her; a smaller man might be able to bring her to climax with the grind of his pelvis against her clit as they fucked, but there was an ilm between them for what her cunt was not deep enough to take. Louisoix slipped his hand between their bodies, found her clit, pinched the whole of it—Matoya bucked beneath him, failing to hold back her cry, and found she lacked the will to castigate him for failing to ask permission in his impatience.

“More,” she gasped, and Louisoix obliged. “Fuck me harder, I’m—” and she cut herself off a half-second before she could not speak, coming around his cock, and he knew better than to let off her clit _now_ , or to stop, fucking her through it until his rhythm faltered, and he spilled inside her on the outstroke, filling her and painting the lips of her cunt with his seed.

Matoya whined in dissatisfaction as he rolled off of her. “Who told you you were allowed to come inside my cave?”

“Your _cave_?” Louisoix questioned, a wave of his hand drying the sheets and muting the acrid smell of piss. Lazy, and he didn’t even have the decency to leave them _clean_ , their skin sweat-damp and his spend dripping out of her cunt.

Turning onto her side, she eyed him with a raised brow. “I thought you liked my sense of humor. ‘One of my only charms’.”

“You have your moments, I believe I said.”

“Pssh.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy Heavensturn 🎉


End file.
